Maureen Dowd is an Enron Executive (JM)

Two Against The One
By MAUREEN DOWD
Published: August 19, 2008
WASHINGTON

Alright, what follows here is a rant of insane speculation the likes of which probably couldn’t be printed in the Enquirer. In fact, I am not entirely positive how this is not straight up libel. This is one of those examples where Maureen has actually gone way too far in to the realm of terribly unethical journalism. The funny thing is I expect that this isn’t even as bad as it originally was before editing. So I shall, for your benefit, add the “original” text in italics.

In the dead of night in a small hideaway office in the deserted Capitol, a clandestine meeting takes place between two senators with one goal.
They grin at each other as they lift their celebratory shots of brutally cold Stolichnaya.

This meeting of the Evil League of Evil will come to order, Hillary intoned, as John McCain and Bad Horse swigged their vodka.
“Our toast to The One,” they say in unison, “is that he’s toast.”

“Obama should have picked you, Hillary,” John McCain tells her. “It isn’t fair, my friend. But it just makes it easier for me to whup him.”
“Don’t worry, John, I’ve put it behind me,” Hillary replies. “I’m looking toward the future now, a future that looks very bright, once we send Twig Legs back to the back bench.”

They chortle with delight.

Joe Lieberman enters and kneels before McCain, “Master, I’ve gotten the lock of Tim Kaine’s hair as you requested.”
Hillary, her head thrown back laughing, says, “Good, good! Now we can control him. Did you bring the eye of Newt?”
::cut to Newt Geingrich running really fast from Lieberman in a bulldozer::

“He’s a bright young man, but he got ahead of himself,” McCain says. “He needs to be taught a lesson, and we’re the ones to do it. Have you seen the new Bloomberg poll? Obama’s dropped and we’re even again. The Bullet’s getting all the credit, but you and I know, Hillary, that it’s these top-secret counseling sessions we’re having. And thanks again for BlackBerrying me the Rick Warren questions while I was in the so-called cone of silence.”

“Oh, John, you know I love you and I’m happy to help,” Hillary says. “The themes you took from me are working great — painting Obama as an elitist and out-of-touch celebrity, when we’re rich celebrities, too. Turning his big rallies and pretty words into character flaws, charging him with playing the race card — that one always cracks me up. And accusing the media, especially NBC, of playing favorites. It’s easy to get the stupid press to navel-gaze; they’re so insecure.”

Seriously, let’s just stop for a second a appreciate the fact that the so-called paper of record has allowed their most famous columnist to print an exchange in which Hillary admits to helping John McCain cheat. This is just such a tremendous lapse in journalistic integrity that I am nauseous. Usually I just think Maureen is a bad writer, but seriously this column makes me feel like she is just a terrible person.

“They’re all pinko Commies,” McCain laughs. “Especially since they deserted me for The Messiah. Seriously, Hill, that Paris-Britney ad you came up with was brilliant. I owe you.”
Looking pleased, Hillary expertly downs another shot. “His secret fear is being seen as a dumb blonde,” she says. “He wants to take a short cut to the top and pose on glossy magazine covers, but he doesn’t want to be seen as a glib pretty boy.”
McCain lifts his glass to her admiringly. “If I do say so myself, while the rookie was surfing in Hawaii, I ate his pupus for lunch. Pictures of him pushing around a golf ball while I’m pushing around Putin. Priceless.”
“I have a little secret to tell you about that, John. Bill made it happen. He loves you so much. He called Putin and told him that if he invaded Georgia, he could count on being invited to the Clinton Global Initiative every year for the rest of his life.”

Vladimir Putin and Osama bin Laden walk in to the room. Putin places as a bottle of Stoli on the table, and Clinton proceeds to drink all of it with no hands.
“Impressive,” laughs Putin, “you’ll see that I’ve invaded Georgia for you. We agree that once you become President that I can have Poland and Germany.”
“Of course you can, John pour us all another drink.”
Osama sheepishly, “No, no, none for me, it’s kind of against my religion. I’ll tell you what, if I can have the Middle East and France I will create a picture on Photoshop of me and Obama having a catch as brothers.”
“Whoa, that’s a hell of an idea! The Middle East is yours!” exclaims McCain.
“France?”
“Ehhh… sure why not. The look on Sarkozy’s face will be priceless.”

“Wow. Should I call him? I saw your husband’s kind words about me in Las Vegas on Monday, saying I’d be just as good as Obama on climate change.”

Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies. Bill explicitly said that McCain is better than most Republicans on the environment and that he prefers Obama’s plan. This is not just what he actually said, but a pretty accurate assessment of the situation.

“I think he’d like that,” Hillary smiles. “He’s still boiling at Obama. And you don’t have to worry about my army of angry women. We’ve spread the word in the feminist underground — as opposed to that wacky Obama Weather Underground — that ‘catharsis’ is code for ‘No surrender.’ My gals know when I say ‘We may have started on two separate paths but we’re on one journey now’ that Skinny’s journey is to the nearest exit.”
“But Obama’s says he’s finally ready to hit back,” McCain says, frowning. “He’s starting a blistering TV campaign and attacking me for attacking his patriotism.”
“Now, John, you know that every time he tries to get tough, he quickly runs out of gas. Sometimes in debates, he’d be exhausted by the third question. He must use up all his energy in the gym. He doesn’t have any stamina, and he certainly doesn’t have our bloodlust. Besides, you can throw that Mark Penn stuff at him that I couldn’t use in a Democratic primary about how he’s not fundamentally American in his thinking and values. While he’s up on his high-minded pedestal, you’ll scoot past him in your Ferragamos.”
“How can I ever thank you, my friend?”

In to the room comes Blackbeard, Hitler, Mao, Charlie Manson, and Richard Nixon.
“Arggh, this is fine conspiracy we have going here.”, Nixon states as he gives Hillary the second creepiest back massage of all time.
Mao and Hitler go over to Joe Lieberman with hugs all around (I suspect this moment was a bit uncomfortable for Joe, but you know anything for the party).
“Arrr, our plan for world domination is neigh completion. Let me ask you this: Does anyone have any gold doubloons they need buried?”
McCain shakes his head with disdain before calling Charlie Manson “a little jerk” and barbecuing for him.

“You can announce that you won’t be running for re-election because you’d be 76, and you can pick somebody really lame to run with, like your pal Lieberman. That means one term for you, and two for me.”
“It’s a deal,” McCain says, sticking out his hand to shake on it. “That was inspired to snatch his convention away — makes him look so weak. Listen, why don’t you stop in Sedona on the way to Denver? Wear a black wig and I’ll spirit you up to the cabin for the night. I’ll catch a catfish in the mill pond and grill it for you. It will be an adventure.” There’s a knock on the door. Jesse Jackson sticks his head into the meeting.

Following Jesse in to the room glides Lord Voldemort, Satan and a living personification of the AIDS virus.
“Tally ho and good day folks, does anyone have any need of a retrovirus this fine summer’s day?”, asks AIDSy.
“Umm… no…” says Hillary, but slowly reconsidering, “Hmm… well let’s wait and see who Obama chooses as VP shall we?” Turning she glances at Voldemort given the first creepiest back massage of all time to John McCain.
“Mmm… thanks Volde, that Imperius curse you taught me was fantastic. Look what a good little servant Joe has become.”
Satan looks around him, “Jesus, this is screwed up even for me! I’m outta here.” Satan zooms off cartoonishly with a little smoke cloud left behind him.
Fin

“Is it over?” he asks his co-conspirators.
“Yes, he’s over,” they respond in unison.

Seriously, I cannot emphasize how bad, absurd, cartoonishly evil, irresponsible, inappropriate and terrible this article is. If I thought it would do any good I would write a letter to the Times. But instead, I choice strawman it death and a makes some decent Harry Potter jokes. We all have our paths I suppose.